


Prize

by grumpyphoenix



Series: Brain Salad [28]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:47:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24039892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumpyphoenix/pseuds/grumpyphoenix
Summary: Every year, a certain Angel and Demon play a game for a prize.
Series: Brain Salad [28]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1055951
Comments: 5
Kudos: 20





	Prize

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: **Setting** /Roadside Motel **Trope:** Angels and Demons **Prompt:** Sports rivalries
> 
> https://bleep0bleep.tumblr.com/prompts
> 
> Not Beta Read.

The door banging wakes Dean up from a dead sleep.

Castiel bustles in, followed by Sam and Crowley, all talking at top volume. Dean, sitting bolt upright, tries to get his brain to process what he’s seeing. 

“Cas, you can’t just pick the ball up and run with it -” 

“-pretty sure that smacking the goalie with a wing is illegal-” 

“-hilarious, Crowley, and the hexing? And what about that Escobar person? Dean put that away!”

Dean hastily puts the gun down. “What the fuck is…no, wait, what are you wearing?” 

Cas jogs in place while he turns around for Dean to get a good look. “Shorts!”

And knee high socks with orange sneakers. And no shirt. There’s dirt on him in patches, and a growing bruise along one jaw. It’s hot as fuck. Crowley is wearing the same outfit, but with a shirt. Also hot, but he would literally die before admitting it.

“Okay, I get it, I’m still dreaming.” He goes to lie back down, but Sam throws jeans at his head. 

“Get up, dammit. I owe Crowley breakfast, and you’re coming. I can’t keep up with these two alone.” 

Cas and Crowley are arguing again, in each other’s face. Close into each other’s face. Kissing close. Yeah, Dean’s putting on his jeans now, because someone has to break  _ that shit up. _

“Sam,” he hisses softly, “What in the fuck is happening?”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Soccer.” 

“Maybe more than one word in your explanation?” He takes off his shirt, provoking a wolf whistle from Crowley, and then a sharp noise when Cas kicks him in the shin.

Crowley sits on Sam’s bed and rubs his shin, glaring at Cas who is glaring back. “It’s annual, Squirrel. Do try to keep up. Every year since the world didn’t blow up.” 

Dean runs his hands through his hair and calls the morning routine done. “You play soccer every year. Is it for a prize?”

Cas glowers at Crowley. “Yes. But not always soccer. A physical contest. Which I have always won until  _ he cheated _ . He hired a...what did you call it?” 

“A ringer,” Sam supplies. 

Crowley just smiles, spreading his hands out as if he doesn’t know what Cas means. “Everyone in hell is eligible to play.”

Cas steps forward, murder in his gaze, and Sam gets in between. “Breakfast. Now. We can hash this out over coffee.” 

The angel and demon reluctantly get herded out of the room, and Sam pauses at the door. “You coming?”

Dean can hear them fighting outside. “What’s the prize for this epic contest?”

Sam coughs, his eyes tracking up and down Dean. 

“Wait. What??” 

Sam doesn’t answer him, darting out of the motel to yell “Knock it off, dammit, you’re going to scratch the paint!”

“Sam? Sam, am I the prize?  _ And Crowley won?! _ SAM!” Dean runs after him, slamming the motel room door hard behind him.


End file.
